


From the Zenith Like a Falling Star

by teprometo



Series: 2012 Summer Pornathon [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, M/M, Masturbation, Team Gluttony, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teprometo/pseuds/teprometo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lancelot looks at Merlin, and he wonders about himself. In a moment of clarity, he finds resolve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Zenith Like a Falling Star

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [week one](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/77350.html) of the 2012 Summer Pornathon based on image prompt #03. This one took second place in Group A.
> 
>  _From morn_  
>  To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,—  
> A summer’s day; and with the setting sun  
> Dropp’d from the Zenith like a falling star.  
> \- Paradise Lost, Book i. Line 742, John Milton

The first thing Lancelot notices is his own easy breathing. The air is somehow fresher, brighter, more enlivening than usual. He feels cleansed and renewed, ready for the long day ahead.

It takes him a moment to remember where he is. The sound of water lapping against the shore brings to mind the image of Merlin lying half-dead at the water’s edge, of Merlin slumped over the back of his horse, face frozen in brave terror. His whispered protests of _Arthur_ and _I need to protect him_ and _please_ resound in Lancelot’s mind even now. Struck with a jolt of hot, suffocating dread, he opens his eyes, searching for Merlin, praying the Vilia have upheld their vow to protect and heal him.

He sees Merlin and is filled with conflicting sensations: the warm spread of relief at Merlin’s apparent health, and an urgent pang of arousal, because Merlin is _naked_. He is wading into the water, just visible in the first minutes of sunrise, his perfect round arse a delectable shadow that makes Lancelot nearly groan with the need to bury his face there, to lick and bite and _taste_ Merlin’s delicate skin.

Merlin crouches in the water, which is only as deep as his waist. When he leans down to submerge his head, Lancelot takes the opportunity to roll fully onto his side, relieving the strain on his neck and settling in to watch Merlin bathe, despite the objection of his conscience.

Merlin’s head emerges, and Lancelot hears him suck in a deep breath. The air is still and silent here; it must be the magic of this place. He watches Merlin slide his hands over his skin, scrubbing off the grime of the previous day. When Merlin reaches down between his legs, Lancelot’s breath catches in his throat. Even though he can’t see anything, even though the act is completely innocent, the idea of Merlin’s hand on his cock drives him mad with desire.

Merlin lingers with his right hand cupped around his genitals. Lancelot can just make out the lazy movement of Merlin’s arm. _Oh, god_ , Lancelot realises with a low groan he can’t stifle, his cock swelling. _He’s pleasuring himself_.

Merlin rises to his knees, the water lapping at his narrow thighs, and turns to face the rising sun. Lancelot admires this perfect profile, Merlin’s lovely face upturned towards the sky, his hard cock pulled upward by his steadily moving hand.

Lancelot memorises the way Merlin touches himself, analyses the long, slow strokes and the sudden jerks at the tip, where he thinks Merlin may be brushing a thumb across his slit. He envisions running his tongue there, tasting his fluid, Merlin’s long fingers gripping Lancelot’s hair. He’s wanted it for ages, and he can’t help wishing he were behind Merlin, rutting against the cleft of Merlin’s gorgeous arse, kissing down the long stretch of his neck, his own hands wrapped around Merlin’s cock, keeping him steady as he works his prick just the way he likes it.

Merlin roughly tugs at his cock, and Lancelot catches a gentle moan. As Merlin runs his hand over his shaft, the other hand now brushing a nipple, his moans become louder, more confident, more intense.

Lancelot feels a bead of sweat drip across his brow from the effort of staying completely still and silent. He hardly dares to breathe lest he drown out the soul-rending sounds falling from Merlin’s lips. He imagines holding Merlin down and pressing the blunt head of his cock into Merlin’s arse, pulling those same sounds from him, whispering to him as he moves within—whispers things like _you’re beautiful_ and _forever_ and _only you_.

Merlin has gone stiff, the muscles in his legs and arse seizing up tight, his hand moving ardently over his rigid prick. He’s about to come—Lancelot knows he is, and he wants to see it, wants to experience all that is the zenith of Merlin’s magical existence.

Just as Merlin’s hand slows, he lets out a deep groan of pleasure. Lancelot can’t see him spurting from here, but he can imagine it, can imagine Merlin coating Lancelot’s chest with his release. Between heavy, heart-wrenching moans, Lancelot just makes out Merlin’s broken, _Arthur. Arthur, yes_.

Several moments pass, and Merlin stands, his movement languid. Lancelot closes his eyes and lets himself breathe.

Feeling himself drift again, Lancelot thinks of all the things he’d sacrifice for Merlin, deciding that his life will have to be enough.


End file.
